


Three Quarts of Milk

by snapslikethis



Series: Wartime Jily [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Family, Romance, Wartime, first wizarding war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapslikethis/pseuds/snapslikethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Lily have been in hiding for two miserable months. James is stir crazy and trying not to show it, and Lily jumps into action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Quarts of Milk

"James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell—also, Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions." Lily Potter, in a letter to Sirius Black

 "James?"

His wife called from the little entryway that separated their kitchen and sitting rooms.

"Hmmm?" James responded without looking up from the muggle novel he had been reading—for the fourth time.

He didn’t understand half of it, and the rules of magic for Middle Earth didn’t make anything like logical sense. Still, it was his favorite part, and he was loathe to give it up.

"We're out of milk."

He replied, again without looking up: "Are you sure? Padfoot just brought three quarts on Tuesday.”

"Quite. We’re completely out.”

“How?”

“Well, I suppose we've been drinking a bit more than usual…"

At this, James finally broke away from his book to glance at his wife with an arched eyebrow and something of a smirk on his face. She was leaning against the door frame with one hand absentmindedly rubbing her aching back. His eyes flickered to her stomach.

"Alright,” she said. “I suppose  _I've_  been drinking a bit more than usual."

"I'll say."

"When you're eight months pregnant you can lecture me on milk consumption, yeah?"

He rose from his squashy arm chair, wrapped her in a comforting, hug, and began rubbing her lower back. She returned the embrace—at least as much as she could reach—and sighed into his shoulder. It was only after he'd gotten his kiss that he couldn't help but add, "I wasn’t lecturing, but really, Evans, three bloody quarts?"

Although she hit his shoulder with one hand, the other cupping his arse negated the fact that she called him a bloody prat.

"Must we have milk this absolute moment?” he whined.

“Yes.”

“It can’t wait?”

Of course, James knew the answer. He couldn't help it though—she was so easy to rile up, and goddamn if he didn't love the flush in her cheeks when she responded, rather indignantly, "As you know full well, James Potter, your wife drinks two cups of English breakfast every morning, with exactly two sugars and exactly—"

"—one and a half teaspoons of milk.”

"Precisely. I'll thank you not to rile her up unnecessarily, please. She’s got a delicate constition.”

“Does pregnancy make her refer to herself in the third person?”

“And unless your exceedingly pregnant wife does not have her morning tea in that precise way, she gets very—”

She stopped here and eyed him carefully, daring him to finish the sentence.

James was a brave man, but even he knew his limits.

"Point taken, Evans. We must have milk.” He scratched the back of his head, thinking. “We could owl Wormtail…"

"We can’t, remember? He's on mission at—"

Lily flinched, James's jaw tensed. They both paused, unsure what to say now that the one taboo topic between them had been broached.

They were still Order members, of course, in the technical sense that they sometimes went to meetings. But in reality, they were stuck here, and the forced inaction had been driving them mad for damn near two months. What they were doing was the safest thing for their family—the only thing they could do, really—but it didn’t suit either of them well to sit idly by while their friends were out there, fighting. Risking. Helping.

_Doing_.

Shit, even recon—Pete’s current mission, and previously the most despised task of them all, as far as James was concerned—held a certain appeal.

The third and fourth weeks of their sequestration had been the hardest: the shock had worn off, and with setting up house and a steady stream of visitors no longer viable distractions, the suffocating permanency of their situation set in.

They’d been veritable messes—anger, and frustration that they couldn’t help, boredom, and of course, the prevailing fear—and they didn’t talk about any of it. The truth was too large, and too raw to consider.

So, they’d tiptoed around the cottage, wound tight as coils ready to spring.

A tiff over a kettle had escalated into a row about their situation. _That_ erupted into a full blown explosion, and all the things they’d been unable to bring themselves to say burst forth. The aftermath had been awful. They’d spent two days in bed, releasing their mutual tension and anxiety in caresses and moans and whispered promises.

That volatile cycle—repress, explode, make-up—became increasingly frequent, but ultimately too exhausting to maintain. In recent weeks, they’d devolved into a kind of companionable apathy. By day, they talked about small things, reminisced, danced, read the paper together, worked on the nursery. Read the same books over and over again.

At night, they allowed themselves to properly talk. Under cover of the Cloak, they’d creep into the back garden, and under the stars they’d dream about all the things they would do when the damned war was over.

In some ways, they had never been closer. This was the first chance they’d had to be them, after all, just Lily and James, without missions and roommates to interfere. Would’ve been nicer if they’d have had a choice about it though, yeah?

In a desperate bid to change the topic, she suggested: "You could go out and get it, you know.”

“No.”

“But you could.”

“I could. But I don’t think that I should.”

“I think that you should, though, and what’s that saying about a happy wife—”

“You seem awfully keen on getting rid of me, Evans.”

“It might do you some good to get out for a bit, James, even if it's just down to the corner grocer."

“Have a man coming over, do you?”

“You know it,” she said, wagging her eyebrows suggestively at him.

But his smile was fleeting. "It's not safe."

He wanted to go—bloody hell, he’d love to get out of these four walls, but he couldn’t do it, not when she was here, alone. Two wands were better than one, always. If the Order had taught them nothing, it was that.

"James—you have the cloak. If you use it, you would be perfectly safe."

“I would be, yes, but you know that's not what I meant, Lily.”

"I know you know that's not what I meant, James, but I will be fine for a half hour while you go to the grocers."

His voice was quieter, but he felt he had to say it: "I don't like leaving you two here alone."

It was true, wasn’t it? And she was transparent, with this milk drinking business. Last week it had been the bread. He’d sent a message to Bathilda, who had brought over four loaves, plus biscuits. The week before _that_ , it had been eggs.

They’d done without.

"James, listen. No,” she pressed, seeing the expression on his face, “listen. No one knows we're here except for Order members. And Dumbledore, who is, I'll remind you, the one who helped us find this place. It's been two sodding months and we haven't had anything, anything at all, to suggest that—that _he_ knows. We're as safe as we can be."

He dropped his arms from her waist to cross them across his chest. "It doesn't feel safe enough."

He wasn’t sure he would go, but he didn’t want to argue with her. He _did_ bloody want to get out, didn’t he?

"It isn't, but it's the best we can do. And I must have milk; non-negotiable. A few hours, love. We're talking a few hours. I'll be fine."

"Hours? Since when did it take hours to walk three blocks?"

"Since you Apparate to your best friend's house and pay him a visit."

James shook his head. "Lily, getting milk is one thing. But to leave you alone for a rendezvous with Padfoot—"

"Really, James?" She sounded exasperated with him.

He ought to be exasperated with her. She was the one suggesting he go traipsing all about bloody England, after all.

She breathed deeply, eventually continuing on in a much gentler tone. "James, he misses you. I know you miss him. It won't—"

"But what if it does?" he asked, because he wanted to go. He really did, and he knew what she was trying to do, and if the roles were reversed, he’d be doing the same, wouldn’t he? But they needed to acknowledge the risk, and decide mutually if it was worth it.

She pulled his arms back around her and draped hers around her neck.

"James, I adore you, but sometimes you are a stubborn git who won't do what's best for him."

"You knew that when you married me.”

“True.”

“Regets?”

“Never.”

“If I go, and I'm not surrendering just yet, but what would you do all night? Secret paramours aside.”

"Take a bath. Marlene owled me yesterday—I owe her a response. I have things I can do to occupy myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely su—"

"I-will-be-perfectly-fine-without-you-for-three-hours-I-promise. And I will be safe.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Go.”

James sighed in resignation. " I'd feel better if you came with."

This earned him a snort. "I doubt I'd be able to fit under the cloak by myself with this thing,”—she bumped her belly into his pelvis—“let alone all three of us."

He kissed her forehead. "That thing is our baby, Evans, so watch it. And can you forgive me for being a git? It's just—I worry about you is all."

"I meant my stomach, not the baby inside it, prat. And I know you worry—you have every right to worry." She pulled him close, down, and he happily obliged. In between kisses, she confessed. "You have no... idea... how grateful I am for you... You're a good husband..." She pulled away and pressed her forehead to his. "You're going to be a good father."

"I can't even protect you, Lily. Either of you. Any of us."

"But you do, James—you are now. What do you think all of this is for? I know—" she paused. "I know this isn't easy for you—being cooped up like this."

He could have put on a brave face, but she was looking at him and she knew and there was no point in lying. "It is, sometimes, really bloody difficult. But I know you're exhausted by all of this, too.”

She sighed.

“We're doing the best we can, yeah?"

"Yeah."

After a moment, he whispered into her hair, "Lily? You know I love you, right?"

He could feel her smile as she mumbled into his shoulder. "Well, let me think. As that's the third time you've told me today, I wasn't sure, but I am now."

"Well, there's your fourth time.”

“Oh good. Pregnancy does make me forgetful.”

“You're the bloody best—you know that, too?"

"I didn't do anything, James, except drink all the milk."

"Cute."

She pulled away, looking up at him critically. Shit. She’d sensed his tone—what she called his smug victory voice.

"What do you mean?"

He smirked. "You really expect me to believe you drank three quarts in four days?"

“I thought it might be a bit suspicious, but it would do you good to get out—if only to the store.”

“Knew it.”

“How’d you guess?”

"I know you as well as you know me. You think I don't know your tells when you're trying to pull one over on me?"

“Well. What are they, then?"

He grinned that smug grin, the one that usually ended with him pinned to the ground, or the wall, or the back of the couch, with Lily over the top of him, snogging him for all she’s worth.

"If you think I'm going to tell you that, Lil, you're barmier than I thought."

"Will you still go and get me milk, even if I dumped what we had down the sink?"

"Yes, I'll go and get your milk. But next time you want me out of the house, just ask, yeah?"

“I tried.”

“Good point.”

“And you know it's not like that.”

"It's a little like that. You will thoroughly enjoy my absence, indulging a few hours of peace and quiet." She smiled at this. "You are right in that I am going a bit crazy. I feel like a prat for complaining about it, you know. And you are wonderful for trying to arrange all this to alleviate my guilt."

"Did it work?"

"Nope."

"Damn. But you'll go anyway?"

"I have to. D’you think I could let you go without milk for your tea in the morning?"

“Glad you’re seeing things my way.”

At this, she gave him a smug grin of her own and mostly disentangled herself from his arms. She pulled him into the kitchen.

"It's not fair for you to use my own smirk against me, you know.”

“I’ve learned from the best.” She pecked his cheek.

“All the same, thank you."

"I love you, you know."

"I love you, too."

"And you’ll go visit Padfoot while you're out?"

He adjusted his glasses. "You went through all the trouble to get me out of the house. I think I ought to give you your peace and quiet. But only if you are absolutely sure—"

"I am.”

"I will. You think you're so smart."

"I am so smart. And leave your mirror, if you want."

"Yes, and brilliant. Thoughtful. Wonderful. A terrible liar though."

She scowled, or pretended to. "On that happy note, you're running late." She handed him his Invisbility Cloak.

"Late?"

"Yes, I told Padfoot to expect you at quarter past seven. He's invited Wormtail and Moony—a proper boys' night."

This time, James was floored. So she’d pulled one on him, after all.

"You really are the best, you know."

"So I've been told. Now shoo."

"I love you. See you in a few hours. Put the wards back up—"

"I will."

"And the mirror is on my nightstand."

"I know."

"James!"

"Evans?

"Don't Evans me, prat."

He wrapped her in another hug and kissed her temple, "I'll be home by ten." Another to her cheek, "Thank you."

"You'd do the same for me. Now go—"

"Kicked out of my own house—"

"Oh, the horror. Go."

He laughed and threw the cloak around his shoulders in a fluid, well-practiced motion. As he was passing out the door, however, she said, "James?"

Distracted in ensuring his feet were covered, he replied without looking up, "Hmmm?"

She crossed the kitchen and kissed his cheek. "Don't forget my milk."

"Yes, love." His face smiled to match hers. He kissed her one last time, threw the cloak over his head, and shut the door behind him.


End file.
